


Paidi's Proper Shag

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Dirty Talk, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Fast Food, First Time, Flirting, Getting Together, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Restaurants, Rutting, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: Draco works at a fast food restaurant. Harry is his worst customer.





	Paidi's Proper Shag

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[21](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> Thank you to my beta, L! Thanks for reading!
> 
> The prompt:
> 
>  **Food Theme** : Fast food restaurant  
>  **Scenario** : Draco works in a (magical) fast food restaurant. Harry is his best (worst) costumer, and is constantly taking the piss.  
>  **Additions** : what Draco understands as "taking the piss" is often just very obvious flirting, Draco's coworkers either are under the assumption that Harry is Draco's boyfriend or they pretend really well, the manager of the restaurant is Greg and he takes his job Very Seriously

Harry loved London in the summer. He wandered the crowded streets, breathing in pockets of spoiled rubbish and car exhaust. It was hotter here than in Surrey with all its burning concrete and blazing glass. He kept his head down and followed the gum spots like a map. 

He was twenty years old, a bit lost, a bit traumatized. The war was two years ago, but he still couldn’t outrun it. He struggled sleeping.

He spent a lot of time by himself. He walked past bookshops and pubs, hands buried in his pockets, eyes avoiding faces. He liked losing himself among the excited tourists with their clicking cameras and buzzing mobiles. Muggles didn’t stare at him; they didn’t stop him in the street to ask when he would start Auror training.

His fame was overwhelming and lonely; everyone had expectations and opinions about his wardrobe, his career, his love life. He shouldered all of it quietly, competently, but one thing threatened to break him: He was attracted to men.

Out of everything, this left him the most stunned. Where had it come from? What did it mean? He still liked women, but he now wasn’t sure if he could marry one. He was desperate for a family, for stability, and his attraction to men threw that all out the window. 

He struggled not to hate it. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know anyone else who had these feelings. This depressed him the most. Surely blokes like him were around? Surely he wasn’t the only one of his classmates who was a little gay?

He didn’t know who he could trust with this information. He was desperate to tell Hermione, but something held him back. He didn’t want to disappoint her. He didn’t want to worry about her telling Ron. Merlin. He couldn’t imagine telling Ron.

Another reason why he liked traversing London: discovering all the magical spots that Hagrid hadn’t shown him. For most of his school years, he’d thought magical London was limited to Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Grimmauld Place, and Platform 9 ¾. As it turned out, he’d been terribly wrong.

Magic was _everywhere_ in London; he just needed to know where to look. There were magical shops hidden in dark alleyways and behind hollowed out foyers. There were magical restaurants on top of skyscrapers and in the bowels of Muggle hotels. Wizards and witches even ran fast food restaurants. These were his favorites.

He tried a different place every week. Some were good, some were awful. He liked hamburgers and chips and soft drinks. He liked the stark lighting and the hard benches. He liked the gaggle of kids and their harassed parents.

Tonight he was headed to _Paidi’s Proper Hamburgers_. He’d heard rumors that it was one of the best, but it was all the way in West Hampstead and Harry didn’t like the Tube. He walked there, taking his time, enjoying the setting sun. He supposed he could Apparate, but what was the fun in that?

He was told it was next to a Muggle burrito shop. When he spotted a gigantic wall mural of a burrito with wings, he reckoned he was in the right place. Next to the burrito shop was a Boots. There was no alley. 

Where could this place be? He retraced his steps down the street, eyeing every crack in the brick wall. Shit. This place was hidden _very_ well.

Then he saw it: a flickering of light in the brick. He stepped closer and glanced around to make sure no Muggle was watching; then he pressed his wand to the light and suddenly the wall wasn’t there.

 _Paidi’s Proper Hamburgers!_ flashed at him in neon. The shop front was all glass with cartoon hamburgers dancing up and down the window panes. The restaurant was brightly lit and very Muggle-looking. Harry went inside.

It was quite busy, which was to be expected around dinnertime. Families dotted the tables; a toddler rolled on the floor, crying silently. Someone had cast a silencing charm on the child. Bless them.

He headed up front to order and stopped. Draco Malfoy stood behind the till, but he looked different. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Malfoy was _fit_ ; he was the hottest boy Harry had ever seen. 

Malfoy hadn’t spotted him yet, so Harry took up a chair that was partially hidden from view. Malfoy was tall and slender, but his shoulders were strong, his back so straight it looked uncomfortable. He wore a black apron and a silly paper hat; his face had filled out a little, and his chin wasn’t as pointy. He smiled blandly at the customer he was helping, and his mouth was still thin, cruel, but very, very _sexy_.

Harry gulped. Merlin. _Merlin._

He should walk out. He should walk out and never come back. It didn’t matter that spoiled Malfoy now worked at a fast food restaurant. It didn’t matter that he looked happier, steadier, even though he was in a position leagues below his privileged upbringing.

Harry approached the till. Malfoy’s eyes widened.

“Potter.”

“Hi.” Harry grinned weakly, his heart thumping.

Malfoy’s expression darkened. “Let me guess: You’re here to fuck with me.”

“I’m here for a hamburger. I heard it’s one of the best.”

“Likely story.” Malfoy raised his chin. “Come on, then. Give me your best shot.”

“What are you talking about?”

He sneered. “I work a _till_ now. I clean up other people’s messes. Go on. Have your laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.” Harry leaned closer without thinking about it. 

“Later then. You will tell Weasley and Granger, and you lot will _celebrate_ my demise.”

“Your demise? You work at a hamburger shop. It’s not that bad.”

“I’m a _Malfoy_. Do you not understand what that means?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t really care to understand.”

“Merlin,” Malfoy muttered. 

They stared at one another. Harry was transfixed. He’d never noticed before, but Malfoy’s eyes were so damn attractive. They were grey and bright and familiar. They were Sirius’ eyes. 

“Are you going to ask me what I want?”

Malfoy flinched. He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Welcome to Paidi’s! What would you like to eat tonight?”

“Do you have any specials?”

“We sure do! Order a number one or three and you can add a second patty for just 25 knuts!”

Harry bit his lip to stop himself from smiling. “You are terrible at this.”

“I’m doing my best,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth. 

“When do you get off?”

“What?”

“Do you want to do something together? I could wait.”

“ _What?_ ”

“There’s the cinema or the pub. I want to have a drink with you.”

“You want - ? But you’re -” Malfoy pulled himself together. “Why are you asking me now?”

Harry shrugged. He was teasing Malfoy, but his offer was genuine. He wanted more time to talk to Malfoy, to look at him. He wanted to watch him. 

“The war’s over. We’re not enemies anymore. I want to get to know you.”

Malfoy flushed a blotchy pink. “You are such a prat. Can’t you see I’m busy? Take the piss out of someone else.”

“I’m being serious.”

“No, you’re not!” Malfoy’s voice was raised, and a few of the customers looked over at them. He flushed even more. “Now, _please_ , give me your order.”

Harry sighed. “I want a number one with that extra patty.”

“Everything on it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want cheese?”

“Yeah.”

Malfoy punched the order into his little screen, then flipped it around for Harry to sign. Harry blinked. The screen looked very Muggle and techy.

“You know how to use computers?”

“Obviously,” Malfoy said, sounding bored. 

“Is there Magic in there or is this place really using Muggle technology?”

“I don’t know. Just sign.”

Harry signed. Malfoy slammed his cup on the counter. 

“Soft drinks are behind you.” He smiled widely, almost manically. “Have a great night!”

Harry took his cup and fucked off to the soda fountain. With his drink fizzing in his cup, he found a table right in front of the till and sat down. Malfoy’s thin brows lowered over his eyes; he opened his mouth like he was about to tell Harry off, but then a customer interrupted him.

“Pardon, where’s the ketchup?”

“Do you prefer packets?”

“Yeah, those will do.”

“How many?”

“How many can I get?”

Malfoy smiled at the customer. “How many do you need?”

Harry stared and stared. He gnawed on his straw. Malfoy shot glares at him. 

When his food was ready, Malfoy slammed the tray down on his table. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Eating dinner?” Harry felt his lips twitch into a smile.

Malfoy’s expression darkened. “Must you sit right here?”

“Do you not want to see me?” He faked a frown.

“I want you to leave me alone!”

Harry popped a hot chip into his mouth. “Wow, these are good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Do you make the food?”

“Sometimes.”

Harry felt a swoop in his stomach. He liked the idea of Malfoy _working_. He wanted to see him get his hands dirty. “Do you live around here?”

Malfoy sneered. “Why do you want to know?”

“I know your parents live at the Manor, but I can’t imagine you traveling all the way down here just to work a hamburger shop.”

“Maybe I enjoy Flooing.”

“So you live with them?”

“I didn’t say that.”

They stared at each other some more. Harry licked salt from a chip. “Do you remember when I beat your arse in fifth year? It was on the Quidditch field.”

“Remember when I kicked your face in?” Malfoy whispered, his eyes glittering in a way that reminded Harry of Professor Snape.

“Funny enough, I _do_ remember that.” Harry patted his nose. “It still aches from time to time.”

“Good.”

Harry glanced at Malfoy’s chest, wondering, but he couldn’t bring himself to mention it.

“Are you reminding me for a reason? Do you want to fight me?” Malfoy’s hands were in fists, his lips parted. 

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“Sod off then.” Malfoy went back to the till.

Harry focused on his food. The hamburger was juicy and flavorful; the veg was crisp and fresh. He gobbled everything up in record time, then wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. Somehow, he knew Malfoy was glaring at him. 

“That was delicious.” Harry gave his tray back to Malfoy.

“You eat like a barbarian.”

“I didn’t know you were watching me.”

“How could I not? You were right in front of me. It’s not like I can go anywhere.”

“When do you get off?”

Malfoy groaned. “Not this again.”

“You don’t have to get a drink with me or anything. Maybe I could just walk you home?”

Malfoy threw his head back and laughed. “ _Walk me home?_ Like I’m some kind of girl?”

Harry felt his cheeks warm. He was still getting used to this whole fancying blokes thing. “I just want to talk to you.”

“We’re talking now.”

“You know what I mean.”

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. “No, I don’t.”

“Fine, fine.” Harry waved his hand. “It was good seeing you.” 

Blinking, Malfoy said, “Go away, Potter.”

“Yeah.” Harry left the restaurant.

*

Draco was so unsteady when he got off work. He said goodbye to Greg and left Paidi’s via a side door. He kept his head down and walked fast, his heart thumping. He was afraid Potter would jump out from some rubbish bins and ambush him.

Merlin.

When he made it back to his flat, which admittedly wasn’t far from the restaurant, he slumped down on his lumpy sofa and threw an arm over his face. 

Sod Potter. He _hated_ him. He was just getting used to his job, to working for shit pay, to keeping his cool with demanding customers. Of course Potter had to come along and muck it all up. 

Not knowing what to do with himself, Draco groaned and rose from the sofa. His flat was small and Muggle, which was all right except for the electricity. He’d learned to use only candles since the electric bulbs had the tendency to burst whenever he cast strong spells. 

He went to his kitchen to pour himself some water. He was still getting used to having a fridge, to cooking for himself. All of the family elves ran away after the war, and even Mother struggled to feed herself and Father.

He pulled out some bread, then found ham and pickles. He made himself a sandwich and ate it leaning tiredly against his cracked counter. 

Maybe he should get a pet. No, no. He just needed some friends. He wondered what Pansy was doing, but she was so busy with her healer training that she had very little time for him. He sighed. He would just take himself to bed. 

He showered first in semi-darkness, his glowing wand hovering over his head. He pressed his forehead to the wet tile, enjoying the warm spray. He wanted to think of nothing.

Draco was bored with himself. He was frustrated. It was hard to value himself after everything that had happened during the war. He was glad that he had his freedom, but deep down he knew he deserved to be in Azkaban. He thought about all the people he’d let die in front him; he thought about the few who he had tortured. It was hard not to let the self hate overwhelm him. He would redeem himself. He would make things right. He just needed the opportunity.

Working at Paidi’s was a step in the right direction.

After bathing, he dried off with a spell (paying close attention to his hair), then slipped into bed starkers. Living by himself meant he could sleep without clothes, which he’d always wanted to do at the Manor, but he couldn’t risk his parents walking into his room without warning. 

He stared up at his dark ceiling. He listened to the faint traffic outside. His flat faced a busy street, and all the growling motors and beeping horns had initially been a shock. Muggles really didn’t appreciate silence. 

His hands twitched. He didn’t want to wank. He wanked a lot nowadays; it comforted him. But he didn’t trust himself to do it right now. He was afraid he’d think of Potter.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he curled his hands in his sheets and tugged hard. For a few years now, he’d been aware that he had feelings for Potter. No, no. Not _feelings_. He thought Potter was fit, that was all. Seeing him at work tonight had been . . . a shock. Potter had looked handsome and careless in Muggle clothes. Baggy jeans, scuffed trainers (that was what Muggles called those shoes, right?) His shirt had been a little tight, hugging his strong chest and arms. He wasn’t a scrawny four-eyes anymore. 

Draco gritted his teeth. He was getting hard and he hated it. He wanted to ignore his stiffy, but it felt wrong. He was in bed, alone, and exhausted. It was the perfect time to wank.

 _Fuck, fuck_. He wrapped a hand around his cock; he stroked himself slowly, his eyes fluttering. He spread his thighs without thinking about it. Stupidly, he thought about Potter’s mouth and fingers shining with grease. 

Potter had flirted with him. That was the truth of it. He’d flirted with him, and just the idea that Potter wanted to flirt with _boys_ had Draco’s cock jumping in his hand. Merlin. His bollocks were already too tight, his cockhead leaking, flushed. 

He hated that Potter did this to him. He wasn’t the only bloke who’d flirted with him at work, but he was the only one who made Draco think filthy, filthy things. Draco dropped a hand between his thighs to play with his arsehole. He’d fingered himself a lot recently, so he was a little loose and only needed a bit of spit to insert a fingertip. Fuck. All he needed was a hint of penetration. His toes curled. His orgasm roared through him; he threw his head back, his cock jerking in his palm. He was coming and it was a lot, it was too much. He imagined Potter smiling at him.

When it was all over, he was left gasping, absolutely wrecked. He groaned because his come had splattered his chest, his sheets. He raised his hand and grimaced at his coated fingers. He never could predict how much he was going to come, and ugh - the clean up was a pain in the arse.

He pawed for his wand to erase the evidence of his wank. Then he rolled over and was asleep within seconds. When he awoke in the morning, he knew he’d dreamed of Potter, but he couldn’t remember the details.

*

The next night Draco was at Paidi’s again. Working was his entire life, though the restaurant still wouldn’t make him a full time employee, no matter how much Greg vouched for him.

He threw himself into greeting each customer with a smile. He made sure to refill napkins and condiment packets during his free moments. He even jumped to mop up a spill when a child dropped a big milkshake. 

Greg sneaked him a few chips as a reward. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you work this hard.”

“I’m just hungry,” he said, his mouth full. 

“Maybe I can put aside a hamburger for you.”

“Maybe?”

Greg shrugged. “The budget is very important to me.”

He groaned and went back out to the till. He stopped. Potter was waiting for him. They looked at each other, and Draco caught his breath.

Smiling, Potter’s gaze drifted upward. “I like your hat.”

Draco made it to the till and glared. “What would you like to eat tonight?”

“Are you dating anyone?”

Draco stilled. Surely Potter didn’t understand what he was asking?

“I’m not dating anyone,” he said, his lips barely moving.

“Seriously? What about Zabini or Nott? What about Goyle back there?”

Draco’s eyes fluttered. A lot of information was coming at him all at once. Potter only mentioned men. Who had told him? Did he know? Was he trying to hint at his own sexuality?

“You think I’d date _Greg_?”

Potter laughed. “It was worth a guess. You two seem close.”

“Would you date Weasley then? Ronald Weasley?”

Potter grimaced. “Hell no.”

Draco curled his hands under the counter. He felt so damn unsteady. There was a panic button under there, and he imagined pressing it. _Help! Harry Potter might be flirting with me!_

“You only mentioned men.”

“Yeah, I did.” Potter continued to stare.

“What are you saying?”

“What do you think I’m saying?”

“I think somebody told you and now you are using it to attack me.”

“Told me what?” Potter leaned closer, and his eyes were so fucking green. Draco had always secretly liked his glasses.

“Why did you and Ginny Weasley break up?”

“What?” Potter stepped back.

Draco suddenly felt like he had some control back. He smirked. “You and Weasley. It made the papers, you know. Everybody wanted to know what went wrong.”

“Nothing went wrong.”

“Nothing? But you aren’t together anymore.”

“Why do you care?”

“Everybody cares about your private life. You killed the Dark Lord. Everyone wants a piece of you.”

Potter blinked. “Do you want a piece of me?”

“I want to know why Ginny Weasley wasn’t good enough for you.”

“She was good enough. It was . . . me. I was the one with the problem.”

Draco stared into his eyes, and he felt a flash of heat. Merlin, he had always loved cornering Potter like this. “What was the problem?”

Something changed in Potter’s body: He stood taller, his shoulders thrown back. Stupid Gryffindor bravery. 

“We broke up because I want to shag men.”

Draco’s knees nearly buckled. He clutched the counter tightly. He felt Potter’s words in his stomach, in his cock. Merlin, he _would not_ get a stiffy.

Harry Potter wanted to fuck men. He wanted to fuck men and he was telling Draco.

His mind whirled and whirled. Then, suddenly, he focused on something Potter had asked him: _Are you dating anyone?_

Draco fled to the back. Greg looked up from the fryer. 

“What in the bloody hell are you doing? You can’t leave the till unattended!”

“I’ll fry. I’ll cut tomatoes. Please, make someone else work the till. I can’t do it right now.”

Greg sneaked past him to glance at the till. “Oh, Potter’s out there. Say no more.” He aimed a cleaning spell at his hands, then changed his apron and stuck one of those ridiculous paper hats on his head.

“Bless you,” Draco whispered.

“Mind the chips.” Greg went out to the till. “What would you like to eat tonight?” he asked Potter.

Draco didn’t hear Potter’s response. He dumped a bag of chips into the fryer and the grease popped and sizzled loudly. 

He was a coward.

*

Harry rarely gave up. It wasn’t in his nature. He was sure that he should give up on Malfoy, but he just didn’t have it in him. He knew he could get a date easily. He knew there were tons of girls and boys out there who’d trip over themselves in their rush to be with him. But he didn’t want any of them. He wanted Malfoy, even though the mere suggestion of dating Harry made him run away.

He had to think of another strategy. He was obviously coming on too strongly. He needed to take it down a notch. Lower the stakes. He needed to get Malfoy in a situation where he was relaxed.

He found himself at St Mungo’s. It was a few days after his last visit to Paidi’s, and he was determined to make _something_ happen with Malfoy. He was on his way to subtly ask Hermione for guidance.

“Look, it’s _Harry Potter_.”

He quickened his steps. He was in no mood to sign autographs. Rounding a corner, he realized he was lost and cursed out loud.

“What a mouth you got on you.”

He swerved around and faced Pansy Parkinson. “Oh.”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“I don’t mean to. I’m looking for Hermione.”

“I figured.” She tilted her head and smirked a little. “Come inside. I’ve got the kettle on.”

“ _Harry Potter’s here!_ ” The fans were closing in on him.

“Fine,” he said, and rushed into Parkinson’s very small office.

She closed the door and locked it. “Have a seat. You can set all that paperwork on the floor.”

Doing what he was told, he sat down and peered around her office. “Are you a secretary or something?”

“No, trainee. They got me working with records, though.”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “You never seemed like the type to go into medicine.”

“I wasn’t the type to do much of anything. War changed everything.” She poured them hot water into two chipped mugs, then dropped two teabags into them. “I like mine strong. The sugar is behind you.”

“Ta,” he said, and took his mug. 

They stared at each other. Harry tapped his wand to make his tea steep faster, then he added the sugar. He sipped even though the tea was scalding. He needed something to do. Her eyes were dark and intimidating. 

“Are you still mates with Malfoy?” he said suddenly. 

“Merlin, it always goes back to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and him.”

“I still don’t know what you mean.”

“Obsessed and _stupid_. Draco was always getting himself into trouble because of you. I hope you know it was all to impress you.”

“Impress me? He - he was a prat!”

She shrugged. “People are complicated.” She fixed her tea and took a sip. She wiped gently at her lipstick. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen him. I’ve spoken to him.” His heart was thumping.

“Where?” Again, she watched him. 

“The . . . do you know that he’s working now?”

“He has to. He has no other option.”

Harry hesitated. “Do you know _where_ he’s working?”

“Do you?”

He realized they were both trying to protect Malfoy. He smiled. “I enjoy Paidi’s quite a lot.”

“So, you’ve seen him at work. I’m sure he wasn’t pleased.”

He laughed. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Why are you asking me about him? Are you trying to investigate him or something? Do you think he’s up to no good again?”

“No! I just -” He didn’t know how much he could say without giving himself away. The last thing he wanted was _Pansy Parkinson_ knowing about his sexuality.

Her smirk deepened. “Did he yell at you? Call you names? Did he run away?”

“All of it.”

“What do you want to do about it?”

He hesitated. “I want an opportunity to get to know him. Have a drink with him.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I’m curious, I guess.”

She snorted. “Are you asking me for my help?”

“I think I am.”

“Let’s go find Granger.”

“But -” He was thinking about the fans.

“I know a secret way.”

They went out the door, then quickly turned into a small alcove. Parkinson tapped her wand to a decorative vase and the wall melted away. “Emergency passageways.”

The corridor was darker, smaller. Healers rushed past, their expressions tense, worried, exhausted. Harry peeked through a doorway and saw a healer fixing up a patient. He was interested and wanted to linger.

“Come on,” Parkinson said.

They proceeded through two more corridors before running into Hermione.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “What are you doing with Parkinson?”

“We found each other by chance.”

“Am I not allowed to be with him, Granger? Afraid I’ll spoil him?”

“Hush. I said no such thing.” She looked them over. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, I just wanted to see you.”

“He wants to shag Draco and he needs your help.”

All the blood drained from Harry’s face. He felt like he was falling. 

Hermione laughed. “I’m too hungry for this conversation. Let’s go to the canteen.”

He followed them numbly, his heart going mad in his chest. He glanced at Hermione, but her expression gave nothing away. He wanted to shoot a stinging hex at Parkinson, who smirked like she knew all his secrets. 

The canteen was small and smelled of onions. Harry bought a coffee and a roll, his hands shaking. Hermione decided on soup and a side salad. Parkinson nabbed a bag of crisps at the till.

They chose a teetering table in the corner. Hermione muttered a privacy charm and he smiled at her thankfully.

“So,” Hermione said, blowing on her soup. 

Harry tore at his roll. He had no interested in eating. 

“I could ask Draco for a drink. He might spook when he sees you, though.” Parkinson licked at a crisp. 

“I didn’t know you were talking to him,” Hermione said.

“I ran into him. I -” Harry wanted to defend himself; he wanted to lie. 

Hermione sighed. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. You two together.”

“I don’t want to be with him! I don’t - I’m not -”

Parkinson rolled her eyes. “Merlin.”

Hermione ate her soup calmly. “You want to be his friend. You want to find out if he’s changed.”

“Yes!” He slumped back in his seat, relieved.

“Rubbish! He wants to shag Draco! Let’s stop beating around the mandrake!” 

“Parkinson, stop.” Hermione’s voice was low in warning.

“This is ridiculous!” Parkinson stuffed a handful of crisps into her mouth, her lipstick now a bit smeared.

Hermione smiled gently at him. She touched his hand and he realized he was fisting the faded tablecloth. 

“Do you want Ron and me to be there?”

“Yes and no. I don’t want Malfoy to think we’re ambushing him or something.”

Parkinson snorted. “He’s going to think that either way! Let’s just do it at a pub. I know the perfect place. Are you available this Friday?”

“Is he off on Fridays?” Harry asked.

“Mostly.”

Harry sipped his coffee. He turned his roll into mush with his fingertips. “I don’t know. Maybe we should meet at your flat or something.”

“No way!” Parkinson said. “He’ll feel trapped. If we meet in public, he’ll feel like he can escape.”

Harry squinted at her. “Why are you helping me?”

She shrugged. “I know what Draco wants. I know what’s best for him.”

“And what’s best for him is having a drink with me?”

“Sure.” She took out her lipstick and mirror. She reapplied the dark red, not looking at them.

“Let’s choose this Friday. Owl me the details.” Hermione finished her soup, sighing. “It’s always too salty.”

Harry stood. He was too nervous to remain sitting. “Thanks. Tell Ron I said hi. I have to go now.”

He left quickly, his shoulders all spiky. He was sure he heard Parkinson laugh at him. Now he had to figure out a way to get out of the building without being noticed.

*

It took forever for Friday to come. He wanted to go back to Paidi’s. He wanted to see Malfoy again.

He occupied himself at Grimmauld Place. He had no idea what he was doing, but he did his best to clean out all the dusty rooms. He went slowly. The last thing he needed was to stumble on a curse.

It’d been a little less than two years since he moved into his godfather’s house. So far, it’d been an experience. At least he’d finally gotten Sirius’ mad mum off the wall, though she’d promised him to keep quiet if he put her in Regulus’ old room. He hadn’t heard a peep from her since. 

The house was lonely and dark and too big. He heard whispers and creaks; he was sure it was the portraits fucking with him. He removed the cauldron from the kitchen and put in a fridge and cooker. He fixed up the Floo so the connection wasn’t so faulty. He took down the tapestry with help from George and replaced it with pictures of Sirius and Remus and his parents. He visited the plants in the garden, told them how pretty they were, and they spruced up without any effort from him. 

The truth was that he loved the place. It reminded him of everyone he’d lost. Sometimes he appreciated the loneliness. He hated all the cleaning. 

On Friday evening, he fretted. He combed his hair over and over with no luck. He inspected his shave in the mirror. He changed clothes three times. Everything he owned had holes and tears. His nice shoes hurt his feet. 

He left Grimmauld Place with Parkinson’s owl clutched in his hand. He’d read over the brief message more times than he could count. They were meeting at a Muggle pub in Hampstead. He was surprised Slytherins could stand Muggles. 

He found a deserted alley to Disapparate. When he opened his eyes, he was in another alley but he wasn’t alone.

“Good to see you, mate!” Ron pulled him into a hug.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

“He’s missed you,” Hermione said fondly. 

“I’ve missed both of you. I’ve been a prat.”

“No, we understand,” Ron said, but he lowered his voice. “Are we really meeting Malfoy for a pint?”

Harry smiled stiffly. “Yeah, I think so.”

Ron shook his head. “It’s like we’re living in a whole other universe.”

“People change,” Hermione said. “Get over yourselves.”

They laughed. 

The pub was called _The Gipsy Queen_ , and it was quite crowded. They found a table in the corner. Harry was disappointed that Malfoy and Parkinson weren’t already there. It wasn’t a good sign. 

He and Ron ordered pints. Hermione ordered the chocolate brownie. The restaurant served American dishes like ribs and wings, and Harry tried to hide his surprise. Malfoy liked _this place_?

He looked at the door and there was Malfoy and Parkinson. Malfoy froze when he saw Harry, but Parkinson nudged him. 

Harry stood, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He waved them over. “Thanks for coming,” he said to Parkinson.

Malfoy’s eyes flashed from her to Harry. “I thought we were supposed to be alone?”

“Oops,” she said, bored. 

“Have a seat. What would you like to drink?”

“He always orders a Black Velvet. I’ll have a martini.”

Harry scrunched up his nose. “A Black Velvet?”

“Guinness and champagne,” Malfoy muttered.

“Sounds interesting.” Harry smiled at him.

“I’ll get our drinks!” Malfoy dashed away.

Parkinson sat down, and she was smirking so hard it looked like a sneer. _She’s nervous, too_ , Harry thought.

He took up a chair opposite her, and grinned. “Thanks for coming. I hope Malfoy won’t be too mad at you.”

“He’ll get over it.” She lifted her rounded chin. “Granger, have they made you do records yet?”

“Not yet,” Hermione answered quietly.

“Figures. And you, Weasley? What are you doing?”

“None of your business, Parkinson.”

Hermione and Harry shot him a glare. 

“Oh, _fine_. I’ll be nice to the Slytherins.” He gulped from his ale and licked his top lip. “I’m working in George’s shops. Making loads of money, too.”

“Wonderful.” Parkinson’s smiled looked painful. “And what are you doing in these shops?”

“Loads of things. Sometimes I help him with experiments. Sometimes I stock shelves and work the till. I do whatever he needs me to do.”

“Sounds grand,” she said. 

“Do you like working at St Mungo’s?” Harry asked.

“Sure.”

Malfoy came back with their drinks. He sat down next to Parkinson, which made him face Harry. Their feet almost touched under the table.

“Do you like this place?” Harry asked him.

Malfoy shrugged. “Sometimes it’s fun to mingle with the Muggles.”

Hermione stared at him. 

“What?” He took a defensive gulp of his drink.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just never would’ve guessed you’d like to be around Muggles.”

“Slytherins are full of surprises,” Parkinson said.

“Obviously,” Hermione said.

There was an awkward lull in conversation. Ron shifted in his seat and tapped his fingers on the table.

“What is it about this place that you like so much?” Harry asked.

Malfoy looked at him. “The food is hilarious.” He pointed to Hermione’s chocolate brownie. “For instance, that thing looks revolting but it’s so damn good.”

Hermione licked her spoon. “Yeah, it is.”

“And what do you think about the American food?” Harry grinned.

“What American food?”

Harry pointed to the wings and ribs. Malfoy shrugged and said, “Looks like shit but it’s delicious.”

Harry laughed. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you eat one of them.”

“Okay,” Parkinson said, her voice high. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Ron said.

Parkinson thought for a moment. “We could play a game.”

“No,” Malfoy said.

“I’m interested,” Ron said.

Harry shrugged. “What kind of game?”

“Truth or dare is always fun,” Parkinson said.

Malfoy flinched. “We’re not at Hogwarts anymore.” 

“You’re just too scared that I’ll ask you the important questions.”

“No, I’m not.” Malfoy glanced at Harry.

“What’s the important questions?” Harry asked.

Parkinson smirked at Malfoy. “Can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you dare,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth.

Parkinson’s smirk deepened. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

Harry shook his head. Slytherins were _weird_.

“How about we just have a normal conversation? Like adults?” Hermione said.

“Good idea,” Ron said. “You start, Hermione.”

“Me? Oh okay. Let’s see . . . work is a safe topic, isn’t it? Where do you work, Malfoy?”

“Merlin,” Parkinson groaned.

“No, it’s fine.” Malfoy straightened his back. “I work at a fast food restaurant. You’re Muggleborn, so you must’ve heard of them.”

Hermione blinked. “You work at a restaurant?”

“Yes.” Malfoy blushed faintly.

“A cracking good one, too!” Harry said.

Ron perked up. “What do you serve? Fish and chips?”

“Hamburgers and chips.”

“Even better,” Ron said.

“We should go sometime,” Harry said. “They’ve got proper hamburgers.”

“No, please don’t,” Malfoy said. “The last thing I need is the restaurant to be filled with _Gryffindors_.”

Ron grinned. “Now I have to go.”

“Is this how you became friends? Talking at the restaurant?” Hermione said.

Malfoy’s flush deepened. “We aren’t friends.”

“We’re almost friends,” Harry said. “He just won’t lighten up.”

“We’re not almost friends!”

“Draco, darling,” Parkinson said. “You’re trembling.”

“Don’t tell me to relax!” Malfoy thumped his hand on the table. “All I’ve been trying to do is _work_ ; I never asked Potter to bother me!”

“But you like it. Just admit that you like it.” Parkinson smiled gently, and Malfoy looked at her wildly.

“There’s nothing about it that I like. _Nothing._ ”

Harry sighed. Maybe he really should leave Malfoy alone. “I’m sorry.”

Parkinson snorted. “Oh, _stop_. This is ridiculous.”

Malfoy glanced at her, then at Harry. He was breathing hard, like he was about to be overwhelmed by panic.

“Do you want to be alone, Malfoy?” Hermione said. “We can leave.”

“Draco, can I talk to you outside?” Parkinson stood. 

Malfoy rose. “I want to leave.”

“Stop pouting.” 

They disappeared through the entrance. Hermione and Ron looked at Harry.

“That was a right mess, wasn’t it?” Ron said.

“We shouldn’t have talked about his job,” Hermione said. “It was stupid of me to bring it up.”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s fine. It was stupid of me to ambush him like this.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “It’s Draco Malfoy. He’s not some fragile flower. The bloke is being an arse.”

It was a good ten minutes before Malfoy and Parkinson returned. Harry thought they had gone home and was surprised when they sneaked back into the pub. Malfoy’s face was quite flushed, but he looked more relaxed. He sat down opposite Harry. 

“I’m sorry I was being a prat,” Malfoy muttered.

“We’re just glad you’re joining us again,” Hermione said.

“Speak for yourself,” Ron said. 

Parkinson looked at him. “Let me buy you a pint, Weasley.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Parkinson said, mimicking his voice. They got up and went to the bar together.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, then at Harry. “Um . . . I’ll be right back.”

Suddenly alone with Malfoy, Harry smiled at him. Malfoy looked nervous.

“Pansy told me you asked for this.”

“I wanted to see you outside Paidi’s. I told you that already.”

“I didn’t think you were being serious!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re Harry Potter!”

Harry faltered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You hate me. I hate you!”

“You hate me? Even now?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry rubbed his head. He was having a hard time keeping up. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Malfoy, I want to be honest with you.”

“Don’t.”

“Why? Because you’re afraid?”

Malfoy gulped. He shook his head. “This isn’t right. You’re confused.”

“Malfoy.” Harry played with his glass. “Draco.”

“Stop.”

“Draco.”

Malfoy shook his head again. He was looking everywhere except for Harry.

“I fancy you, Draco.”

“Stop!”

Harry leaned closer. “Just tell me you don’t fancy me. Tell me I’m wasting my time.”

“You’re wasting your time.” Malfoy trembled.

“Because you don’t fancy me?”

Malfoy drained his Black Velvet. “I need another drink.”

“Just tell me you don’t want me.”

“No!” Malfoy slammed his glass down on the table. “This is madness. This is . . . a _nightmare_.”

Harry sat back. “A nightmare?”

“You’ve cornered me. You’re pushing and pushing. Once again, you’re _winning_.” 

“It doesn’t feel like I’m winning. I just want to take you out on a date.”

“Like a girl? Like Ginny Weasley?”

“I can’t take a bloke on a date?”

“Not me. Date . . . I dunno . . . Neville Longbottom.”

“I don’t want Neville. I want you.” Harry’s heart thumped. 

Malfoy threw his arms up. “For Merlin’s sake! Why in the world do you want me? You could have anybody. _Anybody._ Don’t you know I’m ruined? Don’t you see that I’m disgraced? Don’t you see that I deserve _nothing_?”

Harry felt so damn tender. He was desperate to make Malfoy feel good. “Please. I want to kiss you.”

“Fine! Kiss me! I don’t care! Just let this be over!”

“Really?”

Malfoy stared at him.

“Can I sit next to you at least?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said quietly.

As casually as he could, Harry moved around the table to sit next to Malfoy. Their arms brushed and Harry felt his nervous heat.

“Is the squawking over?” Parkinson said with Ron at her side.

“I think so,” Harry said.

Ron took up the chair opposite Harry. “You’ve gotten cozy.”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Malfoy said.

Ron held up his hands. “I mean no harm.”

Hermione returned with a small cocktail in hand. “This place is quite good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, good choice.” Harry touched Malfoy’s knee lightly, which made Malfoy part his lips.

Parkinson pushed another Black Velvet to him. “Cheers, you lunatic.”

“Don’t call me names, Pans.” Malfoy gulped his drink. “I can’t handle it right now.”

“We’re just having drinks with Gryffindors. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Speak for yourself.” Malfoy put his hand on Harry’s thigh. Harry felt the touch in his cock.

“Let’s talk about Quidditch,” Ron said.

Hermione and Parkinson groaned. They looked at each other and laughed.

“I hate sports,” Parkinson said.

Hermione tried to hide her grin. “Me too.”

Harry shifted, wanting Malfoy’s hand to move higher on his thigh. He wondered if Ron or Hermione could tell that they were touching under the table.

A good thirty minutes passed. The conversation remained awkward but the tension around the table lessened. Malfoy never removed his hand.

“It’s time for me to go,” Malfoy said.

Parkinson stood. “Me too.”

“Can I talk to you before you leave?” Harry asked him.

“Yes,” Malfoy said stiffly.

They weaved around tables before finding an empty hallway. Harry stepped closer. 

“Are you pissed?”

Malfoy frowned. “No.”

“Good.” Harry touched his warm stomach. He leaned in. “Can I kiss you?”

Malfoy visibly shook. “I don’t know.”

Harry leaned in even closer. He breathed in his sexy cologne. He kissed his cheek softly, then drew back. “I want to see you again. Alone.”

“Come to Paidi’s tomorrow,” Malfoy whispered. “I get off at ten.”

“I’ll be there.” Harry stepped back. He couldn’t look away. 

“Goodbye, Potter.” Malfoy squeezed past him, their bodies just briefly brushing. Harry sucked in a breath. Tomorrow night couldn’t come quickly enough.

Harry went back to the table to find Hermione and Ron still there.

“We want to talk to you,” she said.

His stomach clenched. He sat down and avoided their eyes. He knew what they wanted to ask him. His cheeks were so hot. 

“Harry,” she said quietly, and touched his hand. “Please look at us.”

“No.”

“Come on, mate. It’s not a big deal.”

Harry glanced at Ron. “What’s not a big deal?”

They shared a look. 

“We don’t want to assume anything, but there seems to be something . . . going on between you and Malfoy.”

“What do you mean?” If they were determined to have this conversation, he wasn’t about to make it easy for them.

They shared another look. Sometimes he hated that they were a couple.

“We mean . . .” It was obvious Hermione was choosing her words carefully.

Ron huffed. “Nobody cares if you like blokes, mate.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Yes! We don’t care!” Hermione added. 

“What do you mean you don’t care? Aren’t you shocked?”

Ron shrugged. “Just don’t shag any of my brothers. Please.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? Aren’t you . . . I don’t know . . . _disgusted_?”

“Why the hell would we be disgusted?” Ron said.

“Same sex attraction is perfectly normal,” Hermione said.

“But . . . we never talked about it. Nobody ever talked about it!”

She sighed. “People talked about it. You just weren’t paying attention.”

“I’m pretty sure Charlie is gay.” Ron narrowed his eyes. “Not that you should now care.”

“Charlie? But - but -” His mind whirled. “Why has it never come up in conversation?”

Ron shrugged again. “I’m sure it has. You’ve had a lot to distract you. It’s understandable if things slipped by.”

“Did you know Malfoy’s gay?”

“Never thought about it. Don’t care.”

“I had a feeling,” Hermione said.

Harry fiddled with a napkin. “Did you have a feeling about me?”

“I don’t know. You can be quite secretive.” She thought for a moment. “I guess I just wondered. But then you showed up talking about wanting to have a pint with Malfoy, and, well, it was hard not to draw conclusions after that.”

Harry groaned. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ron said.

“No.”

Ron laughed and shook his head. “Merlin, Harry. It’s _Malfoy_. Next you’re going to tell me you want to shag Greg Goyle, too.”

“I don’t think this is the time to criticize Harry about his love life,” Hermione said sharply. 

“I know I sound like a nutter.”

“No, you don’t. It’s understandable that you would be attracted to Malfoy. He is quite handsome.”

“Oi!”

“Oh, stop.” She raised her chin. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Well, _I_ don’t like Malfoy.”

“That’s because you don’t like blondes.”

“I like blondes. I just don’t like arseholes.”

Harry burst out laughing. It took Ron a moment to understand what he’d said. Then they were all laughing, doubled-over, howling. Hermione had to pat the tears from her face with a napkin.

“It hurts,” Harry said, clutching his sides.

“I’m sure taking it up the arse is going to hurt more.”

“Ronald!” Hermione said. 

“What? You have some idea.”

“RONALD.”

Harry flapped his hand. “I’m not really interested in being on the receiving end, if you know what I mean.”

Ron raised his eyebrows at him. Hermione tittered.

“I think you should have a conversation with Malfoy before making assumptions.”

“What do you mean?”

“He might not want to be on the receiving end either.”

“Merlin, Hermione!” Ron said. “Do you think about shagging Malfoy?”

“No.” She flushed deeply.

Harry was also blushing. “First I need to find out if he fancies me.”

They shared another look.

“What!” 

“He fancies you,” Ron said.

“How the hell do you know?”

“Because we have eyes,” she said, laughing.

“I don’t understand!” His voice was raised. “Are you saying it’s obvious?”

“He wouldn’t stop looking at you.” She grinned. 

“Yeah, he was virtually drooling, mate.”

“I didn’t see any of that!”

She sighed. “That’s because you don’t pay attention, but trust us, he fancies you.”

Ron cocked his head. “Weren’t you holding hands under the table?”

“We weren’t _holding hands_.”

“It looked like it.”

“Christ,” Harry muttered. His stomach squirmed. _Tomorrow at ten_.

*

The next night Draco was back at work, only this time he was panicking.

 _Stupid, stupid_ , he thought as the hours ticked by and the customers dwindled to a handful. He’d been so stupid to ask Potter around at ten. What would Draco say to him? How in the world would he not embarrass himself?

He tried not to linger on what happened at the pub yesterday. He’d acted a right fool; he’d acted _pathetic_. Potter had flirted with him; he’d wanted to _snog_ him, and what had Draco done? He’d panicked like a child, like some sort of virgin! He’d just been caught off guard, that was all. He never would’ve imagined Potter asking him out on a date. Sure, Potter had hinted at it, but Draco never thought he’d actually mean it. 

Around 9:45 pm, Potter strolled into the restaurant. Draco was mopping around the middle tables. He tried to act cool, but his heart felt like ice. He gulped.

“Do you want some help?”

“No.” Draco gulped again. Potter had come from the shower and he smelled like cucumbers or maybe some type of fruit. “Just wait over there for me. I’ll be done in a bit.”

“Okay.”

Draco finished up his mopping, then he went into the back to chat with Greg.

“What else needs to be done? I mopped. I wiped down the counters.”

“Do you mind organizing the supply cupboard?”

“Not at all.” Draco took off his apron and paper hat, and wandered out to the front again. He was to the cupboard door when he realized Potter was right behind him. 

“Can I have a look inside?”

“No, we shouldn’t. Greg wouldn’t like it.”

“I won’t touch anything.” Potter grinned.

“Oh, all right.” Draco looked around, then opened the door. “Get in. Quick!”

The cupboard was quite small with two grown men inside. A box of ketchup packets had fallen to the ground, and Draco began picking them up with his wand. Potter helped.

When they were done, Draco turned to him to thank him, but he stopped. Potter stood so close that Draco felt his warmth.

“Malfoy,” Potter whispered.

“What?” He could barely speak.

“Fuck, I want you.”

“Potter.”

“Say my first name.”

Draco paused. “Harry.”

“Can I touch you?”

“Yeah.”

Potter unbuttoned his trousers. “Is this okay?”

“I think so.”

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

Draco closed his eyes and nodded. Potter pushed his trousers down, then paused, his breath coming fast. He touched Draco’s cock through his pants.

“Oh,” Draco said.

“Yeah? You like this?” Potter opened his palm, rubbing a little.

“Fuck.”

“Can I take off your pants?”

“Merlin - I -”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes – but hold on.” Draco cast a silencing charm, his eyes still closed.

Shaking a little, Potter eased his pants down. He gasped, which made Draco open his eyes. Potter was panting, his face flushed, his eyes so very big. He looked stunned. Draco glanced down. Fuck, he was hard and desperate. Potter surely knew now how much Draco wanted him. 

“Can I touch you?”

“Stop asking so many bloody questions. Just do it!”

Potter swallowed loudly. He dragged two fingers up Draco’s cock. Draco moaned softly. 

“Fuck, you’re warm.”

“Stroke me,” he said, his voice rough.

Potter wrapped a hand around his cock. He moved up and down, and they both watched as Draco stiffened and pushed past his foreskin.

“This is a pretty cock.”

“Fuck you,” Draco moaned. 

Potter licked and sucked his neck. He quickened his stroking, and they both moaned loudly. Thank Merlin for silencing charms.

“Harry,” he whispered.

Potter moaned louder. “Say it again.”

“Harry.”

“You like saying my first name. I feel it in your pretty cock.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered. He wanted so much more. He pulled Potter closer and sneaked his hands under his shirt, feeling his warm back. Merlin. He felt good. He wanted Potter inside him. He wanted to fuck Potter’s mouth.

“Do you know how to suck cock?”

“Not really,” Potter said, sounding too casual. 

Draco smirked. “Have you ever shagged a boy?” 

“No.”

He took Potter’s free hand and brought it around to his arse. He pressed his fingers between his cheeks. “Feel that? It’s my hole.”

“Christ.” His fingers were shaking.

“Wait, I forgot something.” Draco grabbed his hand again. He stared into Potter’s eyes as he sucked two fingers into his mouth, coating them with spit. He let them go with a pop, then guided them back to his hole. “There. Now you’re all wet for me.”

Groaning, Potter shoved him to the wall. He buried his face in his shoulder. He fingered his arse, rubbing, teasing. He thrust against Draco, over and over, and his cock was so hard that Draco could clearly feel it.

“Harry,” Draco said again, clutching at him. “Put your finger in me. Fuck me with it.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I need it. Can’t you feel how much I need it?” Draco pushed back on his fingers, and he knew his arse twitched and opened a little.

Harry bit down on his shoulder, his cries muffled. It took Draco a moment to realize he was coming. 

The knowledge that he’d made _Harry Potter_ come in his pants sent him over the edge. He thrust desperately, his face burning with embarrassment. He clamped his mouth shut, hoping Potter wouldn’t notice.

“Draco,” Potter whispered, and sped up his stroking. Potter drew back a little to watch Draco pulse between them. 

When it was all over, Draco grabbed his cock and pushed down on Potter’s shoulder. “Lick me. Just once.”

Potter dropped to his knees, then bravely licked Draco’s wet tip. “Fuck,” Draco said, and he dragged his cock over his lips, along his cheek. 

“Next time,” Potter whispered.

“I like seeing you on your knees.”

“Christ, Malfoy.”

Draco helped him back to his feet. They kissed hotly and Potter said in his ear, “Paidi’s Proper Shag.”

“Oh, Merlin. That’s truly embarrassing.”

Potter laughed, his eyes very bright. Draco grabbed his wand from the floor and cleaned himself up. He stopped Potter before he could do the same.

“I want to see.”

Potter hesitated before undoing his buttons and pulling down his jeans and pants just enough that Draco glimpsed the come smearing his pubic hair, his waistline. 

“Lick it.” His voice held a hint of challenge.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, Malfoy.” He smirked. “Eat my come.”

“Prat.” Draco ducked his head. He licked at his soft hair, and fuck, he wanted more. He pulled back before he moaned. 

“Taste good?”

“No.” Draco straightened up and Summoned his clothes. He turned his back to dress.

“You’re so experienced,” Potter said, and he sounded mournful.

“No, I’m not.”

“But - you’re really good at dirty talk. It was so fucking hot.”

Draco turned around to face Potter again and shrugged. “It just comes naturally. You were being pretty dirty yourself.”

Potter shrugged too. He smiled. “Okay, so what do you want to do? We could catch the last showing at the cinema; we could go for a drink; we could –”

“I want you to come back to my flat.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Draco licked his lips. “Is that all right?”

“What will we do at your flat?”

“I dunno. I could cook for you. Maybe suck your cock.”

Potter closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Draco smirked. “I just have to tell Greg that I’m leaving.”

“I’ll meet you at the door.”

Draco headed for the back and found Greg at the cooker.

“I have to go now.”

“But why? There’s still so much to do.”

“Potter’s here.”

“Fine then. Go home with your _boyfriend_.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet.” Greg laughed.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been talking to Pansy.”

“Maybe I have.” Greg pushed him to the revolving door. “Just go. I’ll close up tonight by myself.”

“You’re a good mate. I owe you one.”

“Yep,” Greg said, all business. He turned back to scrubbing the cooker. 

Potter waited for him at the entrance. Avoiding his eyes, Draco turned off the lights and tapped his wand to the double glass doors to lock it.

“Ready?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Potter answered.

They walked silently down a few winding streets. The night was warm and there were still loads of Muggles out. Potter kept close, his arm brushing Draco. 

“Do you live far?”

“No.” Draco couldn’t look at him. They’d just messed around and he’d just made Potter _come_ , but still he was nervous. Shagging was a lot different than talking. Communicating with Potter seemed more intimate. 

When they made it to his building, Draco knew his face was burning. Thank Merlin it was dark out. 

“You live with Muggles?” Potter sounded astonished.

“Yeah . . . it’s better this way.”

“Why?”

Draco shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. 

They entered the building and Draco touched him on the shoulder and motioned to the stairwell. “The lift is always broken.”

Potter blinked. “I can’t believe you live in a building with a Muggle lift.”

They proceeded up the stairs. Somebody had left a few beer bottles on the landing to the second level. 

“Sorry about that,” Draco said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

They made it to his flat and Draco opened his door using Muggle keys. Potter stared.

His lounge was too warm. He threw open the windows. Potter flicked on a light switch but nothing happened.

“I can’t have light bulbs in here.”

“Huh?”

“They burst around strong spells.”

Potter laughed and followed him into the kitchen, where Draco swished his wand and a row of candles lit up on his windowsill. 

“Nice.”

“It sets a nice mood, doesn’t it?”

Potter moved closer. He pushed Draco gently to the counter and kissed him. He moaned quietly and wrapped his arms around Potter. Sod dinner. He wanted to make Potter come again.

They kissed for a few minutes, getting to know each other’s mouths, tasting each other. Potter moaned when their tongues brushed, and he liked nibbling on Draco’s bottom lip. Draco framed his face and kissed him deeply. 

Potter drew back a little. “I thought you wanted to cook?” His voice was rough.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, but I can wait if you want to . . .”

Draco laughed. “I’ll make us some chicken sandwiches. Do you want a beer?”

“No, just water please.”

Draco poured him some water, then retrieved the ingredients for the sandwiches. “Do you know how to mix chicken in some mayonnaise?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. While you do that, I’ll prepare some herbs.”

They got to work. They were relaxed and friendly. Potter smiled at him and brushed a hand along his arse. “It’s such a good arse,” he whispered in Draco’s ear.

“Stop. You’re giving me a stiffy.” Sometimes Draco didn’t know where his courage came from. 

“Good.”

When the sandwiches were ready, they sat at his small table to eat quietly. 

“This is very good,” Potter said.

“Better than Paidi’s?”

“I dunno about that.”

Draco laughed. He finished his sandwich in record time, and when Potter was done, he had a bit left over on his lip. Draco wiped it away with his thumb.

They kissed and Potter tasted like chicken and coriander.

“Will you shag me?”

Potter laughed. “What a question.”

“I mean it.” Draco stared down at his hands. “I want you to bugger me.”

“Oh.”

Draco glanced at him. “We don’t have to if it’s too much.”

“It’s not too much.” Potter’s voice was rough. He cleared his throat. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“I’ll show you.” Draco took his hand.

His bedroom was too warm as well. Draco threw open his small window and cast a cooling charm. Everything was very dark.

“Draco,” Potter whispered, nothing but a warm shadow.

He pulled Potter into a kiss. He was slightly taller than Potter. “You’ve always been stupidly fit.”

“Always?”

“Okay, not always,” Draco said.

Kissing again, they made it to his small bed. Flopping down, Draco pulled Potter on top of him. Their hands were frantic and awkward, trying to pull each other’s clothes off. Draco arched up and felt Potter’s hard cock. 

“Merlin.”

“Yeah?”

“Get your clothes off. I want to feel you against me.”

“Okay,” Potter said, unsteady.

They got their clothes off, and suddenly Potter was naked against him, their hard cocks sliding together.

“No scars,” Potter murmured, caressing his chest.

Draco twisted. “Feels so good.” 

“Fuck.” Potter thrust against him, over and over.

“Slow down. I can feel how close you are.”

“I’m not close.”

Draco kissed his cheek. He stroked Potter a few times, his cock jumping in his fist. “Sure.”

Potter sat back a little. He pawed for his wand and muttered a _Lumos_. He sucked in a breath. “How do you want to do this?”

“Conjure some lube and put your fingers in me.”

“Just like that?”

“Finger me like you finger yourself.”

“Yeah.” Potter swallowed. He cast a lube spell, then pushed a trembling, wet finger into Draco’s arse.

“ _Slow_.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Feel how I’m a little stretched? You can add another one.”

“Fuck.”

“Do it. I need you.”

Potter pushed a second finger into Draco. He moved his wand so the light was aimed at his wet arse. Potter watched his fingers move in and out of him. 

Draco closed his eyes. Courage. He needed courage. He opened his eyes and said, “Do you like watching your fingers ruin my arse?”

“Stop. You’re going to make me come.”

“Get inside me then. Can’t you tell that my arse is desperate for you?”

Potter withdrew too quickly. He muttered another lube spell, his voice barely a whisper. He slicked his cock and lined himself up. He hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Draco clutched at his shoulders.

“I dunno if I can do it.”

“Why not?”

“Your hole is too small. I’ll hurt you.”

“No. Put it in me. I need it.”

Potter laughed shakily. “I think I’m scared.”

“Don’t think. Just do.”

“Okay.” Potter, biting his lip, pushed into him. They both groaned. 

“Don’t stop.”

“I can’t move.”

“You can.”

“I’m going to come.” Potter trembled hard, his glasses sliding down his nose.

Draco grabbed his arse, pushing. Moaning, Potter slid in further.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered.

“And warm.”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel me throbbing for you?”

“Draco – God.”

“Do you feel it?”

Potter pulled out a little and thrust back in. “Fuck.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Draco.”

“Harder.”

Potter thrust again and again. Sweat lined their stomachs. Potter pressed his mouth to Draco’s cheek, moaning.

“Faster. I want it to hurt.”

Potter kissed him sloppily. His hips sped up, but only a little. 

“Just –” Draco arched and lifted his leg. He wanted Potter to hit that spot. Potter pounded into him hard, finally, and Draco’s eyes rolled up. Yes, there it was.

“I’m going to come.” Potter sounded panicked.

“Do it.” Draco tugged at his own cock, wanting to catch up.

Potter stilled, his mouth falling open. He moaned quietly, overwhelmed. He thrust erratically, some of his load spilling from Draco’s arse. 

“Don’t pull out yet,” Draco whispered, his hand a blur on his cock. He was chasing his orgasm, and he just needed a few more strokes – 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Draco came hard, his come coating his fist, his back arching, almost unseating Potter, his mind nothing but a white flash.

He collapsed against his sheets, panting. He’d pushed Potter out, and now Potter gathered him in his arms, kissing his forehead, his nose. 

“Thank you,” Potter whispered.

Even in his post-orgasm haze, Draco snorted. “For what?”

“For letting me do this.”

“I should be thanking you.”

Potter looked genuinely confused. “Why?”

“For choosing me when you could have anyone in the world.”

“I’m not any better than you.”

“What?” Draco sat up, his arse wet and aching. “Of course you’re better than me! You’re _Harry Potter_!”

“And you’re Draco Malfoy. You are very brave, too.”

“No, I’m not.” Draco covered his face for a moment. “I’m a coward. I let people die in front of me. I let the Dark Lord force me to do terrible things.”

“You were brave and clever and you survived. That’s what matters now.” Potter pulled him close and kissed his shoulder. “You are worthwhile to this world.”

“You should think about becoming a healer.”

Potter blinked at him. “Where did that come from?” 

He shrugged. “I dunno. You like _saving_ people. You like helping them. You should just try it.”

Potter was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, maybe I will. What do you want to do with your life?”

“I dunno.” Draco sighed and snuggled closer. “Maybe I’ll work at Gringotts. I like customer service and money.”

Potter laughed and kissed him softly. “Will you let me visit you at Paidi’s again?”

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/144884.html).


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